


Absolute Trash

by Dwodynia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Exhibitionism, Face Slapping, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Spanking, Voyeurism, cheese fries, degradation kink, dumpster sex, face fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwodynia/pseuds/Dwodynia
Summary: Swan and Skov fuck behind the school dumpster. They have an unplanned, though not unwelcome, audience.It's just porn, ya'll.
Relationships: Skov/Swan (Raven Cycle)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Absolute Trash

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my love @enginue for the moral support to put this out there.

The thing about Skov was, underneath his blasé stoner facade, most days he thought he was worthless. The other thing was, he liked to be reminded of it. Swan was up for the job, usually at Kavinsky’s place, but often enough at school that they’d found the perfect spot, and knew the times of day they were least likely to get caught fucking behind the dumpsters. It was fitting, really, Skov’s elbows bracketed against the chipped, greasy metal, head hung low, breathing Swan’s name like a prayer. Swan’s tongue was buried so deep in Skov’s ass he almost didn’t notice the sound of the school’s back doors opening, the crunch of footsteps on gravel. He didn’t stop. It wouldn’t be the first time they got caught, and chances were whoever it was would head back inside without rounding the side of the dumpster. 

The footsteps scuffed the gravel with unmistakable offense, like it had personally wronged whoever was kicking at it, so Swan supposed he wasn’t surprised to find the kicker was one Ronan Lynch, who froze when he saw them, a lit match running too close to the skin of his fingers. He winced and flicked it away, lighting another, this time successfully transferring the flame to his cigarette and taking the first drag, his eyes locked on Swan’s. 

Skov hadn’t noticed, and Swan gave him no reason to mind the interruption, sparing a wink for Lynch and working his tongue with renewed fervor. 

“Fuck, Swan,” Skov canted his hips up and back, seeking more. Well, Swan could deliver on that. 

They’d meant it to be a quickie, but now that Lynch’s volatile gaze was trained on them, and it didn’t appear he’d be looking away any time soon (Swan saw him adjust the crotch of his Aglionby uniform), Swan decided to put his favorite piece of trash on display. He yanked Skov’s pants the rest of the way down, giving that delicious ass another knead before separating his mouth from it and standing up. He rucked up Skov’s unbuttoned shirt so he could slide the tie out from under Skov’s collar and use it to pull him back against him, freeing his arms to allow the shirt to slide to the ground. 

Skov was panting, eyes heavy lidded. “Wha—?” He wasn’t accustomed to being stripped like this, if it was just a quick fuck before lunch period. His question was cut off by Swan sucking hard on the side of his neck. 

“We’ve got an audience,” Swan murmured in his ear, and though the words filtered slowly through Skov’s sex-addled brain, when Swan grabbed under his chin and tilted his head in Lynch’s direction, the corners of his desperate mouth turned up. 

“Oh,” he breathed, like he’d just been served dessert, a surprise.

Lynch hadn’t moved. His bird had taken off from his shoulder, leaving him alone to smoke his cigarette and watch a couple fags fuck by the dumpster. The look on his face was carefully shuttered, but it was clear he had no intention of turning away. 

Neither Skov nor Swan were particularly unaccustomed to an audience, often fucking in a tangle at Kavinsky’s, or in a tangle at a party, or tangled together in a corner of one public space or another. This particular audience, though, seemed like a special occasion. For one thing, they were sober (mostly), and Lynch was getting a private showing. For another thing, this was Ronan Lynch, of all people, Kavinsky’s coveted princess. The high beam of his attention sent a thrill through Swan that had him aching to take Skov apart, and make it so good Ronan Lynch would lie awake and stroke himself to the memory later. If he was into some sick shit. He seemed like the type, and Swan thrilled in anticipation of finding out. 

“On your knees,” Swan bit out, and yanked the tie—an unnecessary move, as Skov was more than willing to whirl toward him and sink to his knees, even as he winced at the sharpness of the gravel. Swan kept one hand coiled in the tie while he undid his fly and freed himself with the other. He was achingly hard. Nothing turned him on more than eating his boyfriend out, the anticipation of being buried in that tight, wet heat.

“Hands behind your back.” 

Skov obeyed with a moan, and opened his mouth, angling for Swan’s dick. 

“Did I fucking say you could suck it?”

Skov pulled back at the rebuke, eyes downcast. “No.”

“That’s fucking right, Trash. You suck when I say you suck,” Swan growled, leisurely stroking himself and rubbing his precome on Skov’s bottom lip, pulling away when the pink of tongue flicked out, hungry. 

“Fuck, Swan,” Skov sounded undone already, aching for it. Swan knew the awareness of Lynch’s eyes on them was having a similar effect on Skov as it was on himself. He could tell by the way Skov’s tongue wavered, his pupils wide and imploring, a soundless beg for more of the dick Swan was currently rubbing all over his face, tracing those fine, high cheekbones, teasing against his fluttering lashes. Skov’s mouth hung open in want, ready. 

Swan twisted the tie around his hand and finally relented, inclining his head in permission. Skov dove forward, his mouth taking in all of Swan at once, deep throating him on the first thrust, and Swan wondered what it would take to get Ronan Lynch to watch them fuck every single time, if it lent this level of enthusiasm to Skov’s performance. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Swan heard himself say. He put the hand not clutching Skov’s tie on the back of his own head, striking a pose he knew made his muscles stand out, shamelessly showing off for Lynch. Then he remembered what Skov needed. “You fucking worthless piece of shit,” he spat. 

Skov moaned, deep and satisfied. Tears were welling up in his eyes, but he kept looking up at Swan with that submissive gaze that made Swan eager to say anything he wanted to hear, as long as he kept doing that. 

“Trash,” Swan groaned. “Only thing you’re good for is your mouth, just a hole for me to fuck, isn’t that right?” 

Skov nodded and moaned again, the effort to keep his hands behind his back shaking up his thighs, trembling against the little circles he was making with his hips. 

“You take my dick so good,” Swan murmured. He brought his hand down to twine in Skov’s hair, taking over the rhythm, brutal and sure. “Fucking take it.” 

Skov sucked and swallowed and choked on Swan’s dick, like he could never get enough, moaning in between thrusts. Swan knew the sweetness of that mouth, and was always blown away by it, but he couldn’t help but suspect Skov was being just a little bit louder, just a little bit wetter, just a little bit filthier, for the benefit of Ronan Lynch, whose hand, Swan wasn’t too far gone to notice, trembled as he lit a second cigarette. 

“Stop,” Swan commanded. Skov obeyed, a long moan falling from his lips. He sat back on his heels and stared up at Swan, hungry for more. “Look at you,” Swan sneered, “you dirty little slut. You’re nothing. You’re fucking trash. You know that, don’t you?” 

Skov nodded, and Swan set an open hand slap hard on his cheek, yanking the tie in the opposite direction, sending Skov, whimpering, sprawling to the dirty ground. 

Swan saw Lynch take a step back. He smirked. “Get up, Trash.” He pushed Skov face first towards the dumpster as soon as he had scrambled to his feet, crowded him up against it, twisting the hand that held the tie and pushing Skov’s face hard against the cold, dirty metal. “You think you deserve to have my cock up your ass?” 

“Please,” Skov whined. 

“You don’t. You don’t deserve shit. But today’s your lucky day,” (every day was his lucky day, if you asked Swan), “because you’re my favorite fucking piece of trash, and I’m gonna fucking give it to you.” 

“Oh, Swan,” Skov grimaced, breath puffing from his slack mouth where his lips were half crushed against the dumpster, “please.” 

“Please what, Trash?” 

“Please, please, please,” Skov breathed, and Swan loved when his voice got like that. “Fuck me. Tear me apart with your cock. Show me, ah—where I belong.” 

Jesus Christ. He took himself in hand and rubbed his tip, still dripping with Skov’s spit, up and down Skov’s crack, eliciting filthy, desperate moans. Skov slid down the side of the dumpster, pushing his ass out, offering himself up. Swan tightened his grip on the tie, but kept only enough tension to serve as a reminder of Skov’s servitude. Not that he was likely to forget. 

“Swan,” Skov breathed, and Swan had to take a deep breath when Skov said his name like that. “Give it to me.”

Swan did. He spit on his fingers and swiped them against Skov’s already wet hole, then entered him in one slow, halting push, forcing his way in until he was hilted in Skov’s tight warmth. Skov gave a strangled cry and went taut. Swan waited for him to breathe. “That’s right,” he ran a hand down Skov’s lean back, looping his fingers around his hips, squeezing. “I’m gonna tear you apart.”

Skov whimpered and pushed his hips back, just slightly. 

Swan gave a warning, “Eh, eh—” stilling him with a hand. “You can’t have it until you relax.” He could feel the trembling in Skov’s legs; even his whimpers were shaky. Swan pulled on the tie, and Skov came up off the dumpster, his back against Swan’s chest, his hands scrabbling to grope at Swan’s ass, head leant back against his shoulder. “Shhhhh,” said Swan, twisting the tie so it tightened around Skov’s throat, cutting off the flow of blood to that beautiful face. Swan loved watching the redness takeover, like a blush that didn’t know when to stop, lips plush and trembling, eyelids fluttering. 

He watched an echo of that redness rise on the inscrutable expression of Ronan Lynch. The blush wasn’t the only thing giving him away—he held a hand against his crotch, his cigarette forgotten between two fingers, burning itself out. 

Swan brought Skov’s swollen lips to his in a bruising kiss, maintaining pressure on the tie around his throat. At first Skov’s tongue was hungry in his mouth, but then gradually softened and retreated, lazy. Swan kissed him roughly until he felt Skov’s hands go limp at his sides. 

“Ah, there it is,” Swan muttered. He released the tie from Skov’s neck and allowed him one gasping breath before shoving him full bodied against the painted metal, still buried deep in Skov’s ass. Skov’s moan was a melted thing, guttural. His fingers reached up and found the lip of the dumpster, using it to help his legs support his weight. 

Swan took a moment to admire the way Skov’s back muscles worked, rippling with effort and desire. Finally he pulled out, as slowly as he could manage, and held Skov’s hips in place, preventing him from pushing back, desperate for a rhythm that Swan refused to allow. He pulled out almost all the way, watching the tight ring of Skov’s hole reluctant to let him go, then slammed back in. Skov’s cry sent shivers down his thighs, made him dizzy with fondness for this beautiful creature who wanted nothing more than Swan’s abuse. Swan happily obliged, pumping into and out of Skov with intensity, relishing the noises he made. He’d almost forgotten about their little audience, and was pleased to see that Lynch had inched closer. Swan smirked and dug his fingernails into Skov’s hips, sinking into each delicious thrust, the smack of skin on skin, the slight jiggle of Skov’s ass as he went as deep as he could, again and again.

“Look at you, such a dirty fucking slut for this. Take it.” He paused to smack Skov’s ass and watch his red handprint appear, and slammed back in, hard enough to make Skov gasp. “Take it,” Swan growled, pumping faster for every desperate whine. “Fucking take it,” he ran a hand up Skov’s back, hooking his shoulder and pulling Skov towards him with each thrust, his back bent so far backwards Swan thought he could string him like a bow. Maybe that’s what he was doing now.

“Nnnngh, give it to me,” Skov whimpered. 

“You’re dirty fucking Trash, you know that?”

Skov nodded vigorously, mouth slack with pain and pleasure as he took the pounding, whining for more, always for more. 

“Fuck,” Swan was getting close. “Fuck, you’re so tight, you take it so good, Skov. Goddamn.” 

Skov whined in response and pushed back against Swan, seeking more. 

Swan groaned and gave it to him, reaching around and wrapping his fingers around Skov, surprised, but not surprised, to find Skov hard. He tugged and gasped and thrusted, too deep, too distracted, too lost in his own pleasure to register his own halting groan as he came. Too eyes-squeezed-shut to notice the crunch of retreating footsteps. He stilled his hips but not his hands, pulling on Skov enough to be just this side of too much, the way Skov liked it best. “Come for me, my love,” he ground out, still catching his breath, delirious with Skov’s little moans and whimpers.

After he watched Skov stripe the side of the dumpster, when he was done whispering gibberish in Skov’s ear, he straightened, pulled out, noting the absence of a certain Lynch brother. He smirked. 

“Swan,” Skov’s voice was wrecked, a broken whisper. 

“Mmmm” he said, pulling Skov up against him, running his hands up and around him, pulling him tight. 

“Fuck,” Skov said, suddenly, like he only just remembered, turning his head in the direction of the spot where Lynch had been. “‘s gone,” he mumbled. 

“You did so good, my love,” Swan mumbled into his hair. ”I’m not the only one who thinks so. He couldn’t get enough of you. Fuck, Skov, who wouldn’t?”

“Oh, god,” Skov breathed, chest heaving. “That was… too good, I—I can’t…Has the bell rung yet?”

Swan laughed. The bell was long past having rung. “Fuck it,” he whispered, still holding Skov tight against him, “let’s ditch class and go get cheese fries.”

“Nnngh, fuck yes,” Skov groaned. His body, limp with pleasure, slowly remembered itself. He took a deep breath and met Swan’s offer of his shirt with lifted limbs, eyes still half closed. “Fuck,” he said, pulling up his pants from where they were pooled around his ankles. “Cheese fries,” he said, with a wide, desire-laden smile. 

“Cheese fries,” Swan didn’t think it was possible he’d ever stop grinning.


End file.
